Affliction
by keeponwritin
Summary: I see the whole world, blaming me for what I feel like I couldn't control. One-shot.


Disclaimer: No own-a teh Degrassi, eh?  
  
Tiny Warming: I guess if you're dumb, this may offend you. But really, if you're that effing stupid, you shouldn't be here. Go live in the 1700's, moron.  
  
Note: Written on a total whim, was up until about 4 AM writing this. It's fairly short in comparison to other things I've written, and compared to how much more detail I wanted to put into it, but still, it's decent length, I guess. It's written in the POV of a character I really dig, and... yeah. No more giving away plotlines. Just read it.  
  
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Sometimes, if you let them, people can become present-day memories. The sort of people you see from day to day but your history together is a blur. You look at them and you remember happiness, but in the present time, all you feel is nostalgic longing for yesterday and used-to-be's. Sometimes, you attach yourself to a memory, afraid to let go because the world is too chaotic to be survived without memories. But sometimes, maybe, forgetting is part of the process. Maybe it's what's best. Maybe it's what I should've done.  
  
Unrequited memories cause some of most painfully embarrassing situations. I can't think of much more to make a situation awkward than laughing about a fond memory only for the other person to stare blankly at you. You'd like to think, really, that other people care enough about your relationship to remember even the seemingly trivial things. I know, I know there are people out there who really just seem to lack a memory, but I don't know what to believe. Do they really have no recollection of these things, or are they just too involved in their own thoughts to care? I try not to associate myself with self-centered people.  
  
But what if you didn't want him to remember?  
  
My alarm buzzed softly, but I was already awake, though still in the semi-conscious state of a person who just came out of a coma. My room was barely lit by the rising sun outside my window. The vibrant blue of the walls seemed dull; the doorknobs glittered with faded golden shadows beneath them. I willed my heavy eyelids open. Feeling the soft, feathery pillows beneath my head only reminded me further of how calloused my hands had become lately. I slid out of my bed with as little disruption to the covers as possible, walked to my window surprisingly steadily, and pulled up the blinds. The world outside was cloaked in heavy blue mist. As I made my way towards the door to go to the bathroom, I passed by the mirror, and had to do a double take. Bags were forming under my eyes, my skin was ashen. I didn't sleep much lately, because it wasn't worth the trouble.  
  
I headed out, to the bathroom in the hallway, but as usual, the door was locked. I knocked.  
  
One sec! her voice chimed. Meaning at least fifteen more minutes, of course, so I dragged myself back into my room and sat down on my bed. The clock on my wall ticked at each second, and seemed to be getting slower and slower as I watched. Things became more visible as the sun rose and cast its murky glow through the fog. Finally, impatience caught up with me, and I walked to stand outside the bathroom door. Soon after, the door opened, and I caught the slightest glimpse of her as she stepped out and past me. Her hair was perfectly straightened, her mascara carefully done, her lip gloss impeccably applied. She smelled like strawberry kiwi. It never ceased to amaze me, her ability to make herself flawless.  
  
All yours, she said, smiling in a way that suggested she even had that down to a science.  
  
I smiled acknowledgingly. Then I stepped inside the bathroom, and besides the pink toothbrush and girly razor and the facial scrub, there were no signs of feminine life. She packed it all away in bathroom drawers in neat little bags. Everything on the counter was mine: the mouthwash, the deodorant, the cologne I rarely used, the decidedly more masculine razor, the shaving cream. I was strewn across the bathroom, the only destruction to what would be bathroom cleanliness perfection. And I'm sure she awaited the day I shipped off to college, if only to obtain order and sanity once again.  
  
I did the usual morning rituals, what I would've called perfecting myself if it didn't fall so short of my sister's version. That was her, always setting the bar too high for the rest of us.  
  
After getting dressed, I trudged down the steps, and there she was already, biting off a piece of granola bar at the counter while our mother stood at the sink, washing dishes.  
  
Granola, eh? I said cheerfully, more cheerful than I actually felt, as I slid into the seat next to her. She rolled her eyes and smiled.  
  
Just watching the weight, she responded, and I willed my face not to drop. There are people out there who live pathetic lives and are quite content doing so. And then there are people like Paige, perfect in every sense of the word, but always striving towards some greater goal that doesn't exist. Sometimes, it's like she makes up problems just for the satisfaction she gets in fixing herself. She went back to her granola bar, and I went to the closet, and grabbed myself the box of Lucky Charms. It was getting late, so I shoveled more artificial balloons and horseshoes into my mouth, and threw on my shoes and headed outside. By the time I got outside, she was already standing there, leaning against my precious car on the passenger's side. Not we were actually late, because she made me wake up with the sun, so even with my morning sluggishness we could still be at school a good twenty minutes before class started.  
  
I slid into the driver's seat and slammed my door shut. My car was my baby, because it was what I prided myself on. It made up for all my imperfections. I turned on the ignition and put the top up, and began another Monday trek to school. It was, however, not without its stops. Primarily, there was the Mason household.  
  
I sat there in the driver's seat, stopped in front of the sidewalk by the house. My toe tapped with impatience, or with nervousness. It elevated to my whole leg shaking as I awaited Paige's return, with Spinner trailing behind on a short leash. It wasn't like this was the first time I'd seen him since what happened, happened, but it wasn't the last time. There were at least three more months of seeing him, sitting and grinning cluelessly in the backseat of my car. I looked out the passenger seat window and caught them at the exact second they'd decided to share one of their usual sticky-sweet kisses. I turned away, not wanting to stare, and looked at the top of the driver's wheel instead. Two doors opened, as Paige sat back next to me and Spinner threw himself into the backseat. When they closed, I hesitated, then turned on the ignition again.  
  
Yo, Dylan. I pulled out into the road, and glanced at him in my mirror.  
  
Hey, Spin. Silence followed. Even he and Paige didn't talk much. I wanted them to, because the quieter they were, the more I felt like I was alone, and the more I felt like I was alone, the more I started to drown in my thoughts.  
  
I didn't mean for things to happen like that. No, I mean--I didn't mean for things to happen at all. Parties are breeding grounds for these things, these regrets and should-have's and memories. If we could go back, I'm sure we all would've done something different that night. Maybe one less drink, maybe one less suggestive comment. If I could erase it all from time, I wouldn't give it a second thought. There are just some things, I believe, that weren't ever supposed to happen. And then they just do. And you can't change them, but you just have to forget they happened. It's not as hard as people make it out to be.  
  
I don't think anyone would understand why I'm wishing it away. It's not like he remembers; for I watched as he threw the glass bottle into the bush and threw up into the pool later on. I can't really explain it. It haunts me, sometimes, like a recurring nightmare. I see the things that could've been. I see my sister, sobbing and kicking and screaming and hating me. I see him, looking at me in disgust. I see my own boyfriend, his eyes burning with tears, leaving me. I see the whole world, blaming me for what I felt like I couldn't control.  
  
All of this, over one kiss.  
  
I pulled into the parking lot. Doors opened, we exited. I walked in front of them, to not see their loving stares and hands clasped together. I stood on the steps, on the side opposite of where they stood, her hand gently laid against his chest in an affectionate gesture. They kissed again, and I turned away.  
  
his voice came from beside me. I bit the inside of my cheek, because without it, one more second of pretending to be happy would drive me insane. I forced my lips into a tight smile.  
  
Hi, Marco. He bought it, and stood next to me on the step while he talked and I nodded, feigning interest in whatever it was he had to say. I wanted him to understand that I had such good reasons for acting this way, for not caring about him, for being self-centered. I wanted him to see what I had done, and to hate me so at least the guilt would end.  
  
He was talking, and people were standing around, and I stepped one step closer and unemotionally and lovelessly kissed him. He fell into me, because I broke it apart, and he wanted more.  
  
But it would never taste quite as sweet.  
  
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A small word of thanks to KT, because I can't remember whether it was her or me who came up with this coupling idea.


End file.
